That’s how my classmates from Israel remember me. And I like it. It’s like giving me an endearing nickname. Because I loved Yugoslavia. I was ten years old when we left. I was not aware that the regime was dictatorial or that my father had been imprisoned, accused of being a capitalist and an imperialist. All I knew was that I was a proud pioneer, and I loved my country. I definitely adored our leader. He was not called “dear leader,” but we sang little ditties in which we compared him to a cute purple violet.
In those long-ago days, in the late 1940s, a highway was constructed connecting Belgrade to Zagreb. Enthusiastic volunteers did the work, and I could not understand why my parents didn’t leave me and my grandmother and join those happy workers. The explanation that “We have important jobs in the city” didn’t sound convincing to me. I still don’t know how my parents succeeded in not joining the enthusiastic masses. My love of the country and the love for its leader, Tito, were indivisible. So, no surprise that one day I asked my mom:
“Who do you love best? Tito, Stalin, or Dad?”
My mother looked at me with her loving eyes and said,
“I love each of them differently.”
While this hot love affair bloomed, Israel was born and my parents prepared to emigrate. I was really disappointed. I had just earned the highly coveted red scarf of a devoted pioneer, and the promise that in September I’d go with a delegation to put a wreath of flowers on the grave of Ivan Ribar—a national hero. But my parents took me to Israel.
For two whole weeks while in the tent camp for new immigrants, I wrote on the sand in big letters, Marshal Tito you are a purple violet.
But after two weeks, we moved to a rented room in Tel Aviv, and somehow I slowly lost my zeal for the Marshal. When Stalin died I was a bit shaken, but I didn’t grieve for too long.
From the embers of this hot love affair remains my feeling that Yugoslavia symbolizes something positive. As I said above, I like to be associated with Yugoslavia. And now?
I assume that my neighbors or students attach Israel to my name, but unfortunately nowadays some people have negative feelings about Israel. And if people rightly say that I am Jewish? For sure this adjective invokes many associations of which I have no control. When people ask me about my origin, I say “Yugoslavian!”
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